That Carpet Thing Again

Mom was unhappy again with me today. She was vacuuming the carpet in her bedroom, when her new vacuum became all clogged up. Seems that the re-decorating that I attempted last year, by tearing up some of the carpet, is still releasing globs of carpet pad.

Mom is not happy that our houseguest will have to see the Carpet Remodel -- normally no guests go upstairs, but this guest will have to use the shower in Mom's room (OK, admittedly it is Dad's room, too,) and there is the Pennie Carpet Remodel smack in the middle of the doorway.

Did Mom offer ME, Pennie, any sympathy? Wasn't it ME, Pennie that was trapped in Mom's room with that ugly carpeting, for hours, last Thanksgiving, while Oldest Lad was out? I became claustrophobic, hungry, thirsty, and of course the horror of that ghastly ugly carpet just added to the torture of my entrapment. Has Mom ever once offered to me any condolences about the terrible time that I spent trapped? No. All I get is her reminding me of how embarrassed she is that the carpet has a large tear and continues to shed carpet pad.

To get even I peed on the upstairs hallway carpet while the family was out to dinner.

Not sorry, Fat Mythical Elf

A fine furry Brindle Girrrl commented that perhaps Santa Paws is not happy that I have taken to calling him a "Fat Mythical Elf." I do see that he might be offended by my refusal to pander to his need for constant adoration in attempts to stay upon his Nice List.

However, I do feel that I have good reason to have a few problems with the Fat Mythical Elf.

First off, there is still the memory of my first Christmas in Suburbia, when I was on the Naughty List.

More importantly, it is up to ME, Pennie, to provide Home Security. I have often commented upon the lack of Work Ethic of Queen Sophine. While she DOES get up to bark at those who come to the door, it is ME, Inspector Pennie, who sniffs out all Intruders. I sniff all packages, even the groceries that Mom brings home from the supposedly-safe nearby Kroger. I always cheerfully greet the UPS, FedEx, and USPS delivery people -- they think that I am quite the friendly sort, but in reality I thoroughly check them out in my quick once over of their personal areas and packages. (It is not without merit that most frequent visitors to my domain immediately cover their private areas as soon as I answer the door.)

Anyhoodles, on Christmas Eve, I am locked in the bedroom with Mom and Dad, while some Fat Mythical Elf breaks into my home and leaves suspicious packages! I know we dogs are supposed to allow this, in the hopes of having a few gifts thrown our way, but how do we really know the intent of that Fat Mythical Elf? I am not going to be lured into a sense of security just because for the past thousand years or so Santa has not left any Improvised Explosive Devices or gone into a Fat Mythical Axe Murdering Elf Rage.

Does Santa remember Past Crimes?

I have given up on the Nice List. It probably doesn't really matter if I am on the Naughty List -- the Christmas Cookies still need to be made, and I plan to hover in the kitchen during the entire baking process.

However, I do wonder about: Past Crimes.

Mom was outfitting Wee Lass and Little Lad in Boots this morning. Wee Lass is going to need some convincing, as the next size boot from the hand me down bin happens to be Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It doesn't snow much in Cincinnati, so Mom sees no reason to buy new boots that may get worn two or three times. In the meantime, the word of the day is "Cowabunga!" as that is what the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TMNT) say, and the day will be spent convincing Wee Lass how cool her TMNT snow boots are. (Wee Lass does have some lovely FLORAL RAIN boots, which have come in handy since Cincinnati has surpassed the Recorded Rainfall Amounts already this year.)

Anyhoodles, Little Lad also needed to move up to another size from the hand me down bit. That is where my Past Crime was discovered. For the size boot that Little Lad needs, the Right Boot is mysteriously missing part of the top. It looks quite chewed off. Mom can't believe that she forgot that I committed that crime -- I am too, Mom is know for remembering ALL crimes. She really should have gone for a career in Law Enforcement or Professional Torture.

Does Santa still hold it against me that I chewed off the top of the Snow Boot? Will it be held against me anew, because it was re-discovered?

Santa better hope that Mom keeps me trapped in her room when he commits Forced Entry this Saturday evening, because I am beginning to think that I may just have to bite him.

Pressure Pennie, the Fat Mythical Elf

I just don't know if I can do it. I dare to say I may have barely eked by onto Santa's Nice List. But how do I really know? Is it worth it?

Just a few minutes ago I actually submitted to allowing Mom to trim my nails, not without being held in a complete Body Lock by Oldest Lad, but still, the deed was done.

I am still haunted by my First Christmas with The Family. On December 7th, or perhaps the morning of the 8th, I gave in to my temptations, and consumed the remnants of Middle Lad's birthday cake. It was immensely satisfying to consume well over one half of a Marble Layer Cake with Chocolate Frosting. (Upon calling the Emergency Vet, some hours after I ate the cake, but immediately when Mom discovered the crime, it was determined, based upon the Box Ingredient List and my size that I was not in any danger.)

I was remanded over to the Naughty List, with no chance of Parole. Each Christmas thereafter I have managed to get my Naughty Deeds out of the way before Christmas, in time to remain on the Nice List.

Why must my Holiday be held hostage by some Fat Mythical Elf? HE is the one who should be charged with a Crime: Breaking and Entering Homes, and of course, Psychological Abuse.

I shall not bother to list my crimes for the year, for it seems that Fat Mythical Elf holds a grudge and has a memory that lets no crime go unpunished. I am considering not even bothering to stay on the Nice List -- there is no way of knowing if I am on the Nice List, and I'll still get to keep the most important thing, my family, anyway, won't I? I may not be able to hold it together and go on some horrid Crime Spree from all this Christmas Pressure.

Is there a Nannie Pennie in the house?

This evening Mom and Dad went out to the Public High School to watch Middle Lad's Band Concert. I was left home to watch Little Lad. I suppose as Nannie Pennie I should have been more watchful, but I just found the millionth viewing of yet another animated Santa Claus Special to be boring.

Dad soon found his cell phone to be vibrating. He quickly exited the auditorium, fearing that Little Lad had burnt down Suburbia.

Little Lad: "Dad, Pennie is twitching."

Dad: "Is Pennie asleep?"

Little Lad: "Um, yeah."

Dad: "Oh."

Dad returned to the auditorium.

When Mom and Dad returned home, it was determined that Nannie Pennie had indeed fallen asleep on the job, with eyes open (it is very creepy when I do that) and I was twitching in my sleep. I hope my Kibble Ration is not reduced.

Logic Lapse

Mom has been upset with Middle Lad and Little Lad. They have a habit of leaving things on the floor. In fact, Little Lad has a mantra: if he is missing something important, then it is no doubt on the floor.

Sophie and I have been doing our best to stay OFF the floor. Mom is not upset about our shed dog hair on the floor. She is more upset that she cannot vacuum, due to all of Little Lad and Middle Lad's important items on the floor.

Anyhoodles, obviously a major problem is all the clothes, clean and dirty that are; readers probably have already guessed: on the floor.

So why is Mom upset at ME, Pennie, when I lay ON the BED, ON TOP of the clean, folded laundry? Not only am I not on the floor, but I am laying upon clean laundry that is not on the floor, and all my shed hair is not landing on the floor.

I am thinking that Sophie and I are going to get a lot of Christmas Presents on the floor under the tree, and Middle Lad and Little Lad, well, not so much.

Pennie Wow Factor

Apparently I have a bit of Pennie Wow! Factor today.

Mom is not sure what it is. She picked up the yard yesterday -- it rained most of the week, and Mom was off on the Bus Tour when it was sunny, so Mom picked up quite a bit. So Mom doesn't think I dragged anything in.

Mom is not sure if perhaps I need to be "expressed." I am not stupid. Why does Mom bother saying "expressed?" It certainly does not mean that I shall be taken to the Towne Center, and at the Community Christmas Tree Lighting, be allowed to bark a speech. No. I know what Mom means: she means that Pennie needs to go to the Vet and have Pennie violated.

I have never been "expressed," as I usually keep myself cleared out on my own. Mom is hoping (and so am I!!!!) that my Pennie Wow Factor will just go away on it's own.

Thankful Thanksgiving is OVER

I am exhausted, and Thankful that Thanksgiving is over. Mom abandoned ME; not only abandoned me, but left me in charge, along with Oldest Lad, of Wee Lass and Little Lass, while she gallivanted off on a bus tour of Philadelphia and Washington DC. Middle Lad's High School Marching Band performed in the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Parade, and Mom and Dad decided it was more important to chaperone Middle Lad and his Food Allergies, than to have Mom stay HOME, where she belongs.

Sophie was useless. Mom, Dad, and Middle Lad left on Tuesday evening. By Thursday, Sophie had decided that Mom was never coming home, so she started looking for a new Mom. Other than finding Mom-ly looking women at the park to fawn over her, Sophie spent her days laying on the couch, looking Sopha-thetic.

I worked my paws to the bone keeping Oldest Lad on the ball, and keeping some semblance of normal family life going for Wee Lass and Little Lad. Do any dogs out there realize how difficult it is to keep Little Lad reading every day and writing in his journal for Thanksgiving Homework, plus practicing the piano, and saxophone? And Wee Lass? There are good reasons why Female Dogs wean their pups at 6 weeks -- children are like puppies, too much, too much.

When Mom came home Sunday morning, after spending yet another night not-sleeping on the Tour Bus, I greeted her enthusiastically, then made it clear that not only do I expect reimbursement for my duties, but I am NOT letting Mom out of my sight for fear that I shall be left in charge again. Next time Mom volunteers to chaperone a trip I shall register myself at the Kennel.

Target Puppy Mill

Sophie and I have started a new routine I term "storming the van." On most weekday mornings, Mom has to drive Little Lad to school for band, or chorus, OR she has to drive Wee Lass to preschool. All those are excellent opportunities for RIDES. Mom "claims" that sometimes Sophie and I cannot go along for the ride, because Mom has to "go somewhere."

Why would Mom ever need to "go somewhere" without us? Obviously we are not repressing her enough for she still has some thought that she is entitled, yes entitled, to some time to herself. We shall only repress her more until any thoughts of herself are gone.

Anyhoodles, to make sure that Sophie and I get to go along for the ride, we "storm the van." In the time that Mom is shoo-ing Little Lad out to the bus, getting slow-poke Wee Lass to put on her shoes, and finding coats; Sophie and I just force our way into the van. Sure we then have to sit in the parking lot while Mom accomplishes whatever errands she has to accomplish, but we watch people, bark at people, and generally entertain ourselves. We have to get all this done now; when the weather is warm Mom doesn't care if we Storm the Van, she won't leave us in the car.

Today, Sophie and I waited in the Target parking lot. When Mom came out, she loaded a box into the van. The box barked and whined! It was most definitely a DOG! I didn't know Target was a Puppy Mill! But it has to be, and not only that, but Mom brought out the dog in a small box, inside a plastic bag! That is certainly cruel, if not outright illegal! Mom acted like nothing was going on, but all the way home the package barked, whined, and whimpered. Queen Sophine, in her usual self-centeredness, pretended not to notice. I sat right next to that box and clearly displayed to Mom my displeasure. Mom told me to "wait until Christmas."

Christmas? That poor puppy will be dead by Christmas, if not by suffocation, then by starvation. I thought that I could trust my own Mother, but apparently not when it comes to "coupons," and "Christmas specials," and something about "hot toys."

Feathers versus Dog Hair

It seems that Feathers are the new fashion trend. They could be the "old" fashion trend, but Cincinnati is not exactly California or New York. Many fashions are "out" when they first become "in" in Cincinnati.

Anyhoodles, it is astonishing now who is out and about sporting Feathers in the hair. Little Girls. The kindermusik Teacher. Teenagers.

Mom does NOT have a Feather.

Here is why: Who needs a Feather, or Feathers in the hair, when one can have Dog Hair in the hair, in fact all over one's clothes, every day? And the Dog Hair is FREE. Mom doesn't have to go to some "Salon" to have her Dog Hair installed -- Sophie and I apply it lovingly, fresh, at all times.